Paradigm Shift
by Daniel Jasper
Summary: ADOPTED from 'lifeless-bookworm'. After several, long years under the Dursley's 'care', young Harry Potter is left abused and deaf. Upon being given the task to collect the boy to purchase his Hogwarts materials, this disturbing fact is brought to light under the hooked-nose of none other than Potions Professor, Severus Snape. [Slytherin!Harry] [WIP] HIATUS!
1. Privet Drive

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters.

**A/N: **Story has been adopted with permission from '**lifeless-bookworm**', formally titled: '**Deafening ****Silence**'

* * *

**Chapter 1**: Privet Drive

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Severus Snape, on any encounter, was neither a very joyous nor a content middle-aged man.

On this particular frosty morning, he was even more outraged, by the simple fact that his twinkling-eyed employer had sent him on the task of finding the Potter brat to take him shopping. Shopping! As if he was no better suited to that of a nanny –_the indignation!_ Said cloaked man, continued to mutter furiously under his breath as he walked down Private Drive, stopping only to ring the bell of the newly painted door of Number 4.

A horse-faced woman, with neat brown locks, answered to Potions Professor's call.

"Can I help you?" she asked, apparently not realising that she was speaking with same distasteful, greasy haired boy of her childhood.

Inwardly smirking at the fact, Severus stated calmly that he was here, on her immaculate doorstep, to take Mr. Potter to purchase his school supplies.

Said thin-faced woman's beady eyes widened, screeching: "He's not attending that freak school!" before fastening the door shut.

Snape stood in genuine shock for a moment –a muggle, _of all things_, had slammed in _his_ pale face. Ringing the bell for good measure once more, when Petunia Dursley did not answer the door a second time round, Severus simply opened it with a non-verbal spell of 'Alohomora' and stepped inside.

Walking into the spotless kitchen, the Dursley woman was nowhere to be found, but in her place stood a rather small, jet-black haired boy attempting to wash the morning's dishes. He appeared to be eight, maybe nine years of age. Ten would be a push at the most. His almost skeletal-like frame was adorned in torn, very baggy clothes. He seemed not to have noticed the man's presence.

Snape cleared his throat to make his existence known, but the boy did not move. Putting it down to the boy not being able to hear over the racket he was making with the plates he was cleaning, the professor cleared his throat once more, and said somewhat loudly, "Excuse me?"

Still, he received no noticeable reaction.

Getting frustrated, he walked up to the boy and placed a firm hand on his scrawny shoulder. Harry jumped, dropping the china plate that he had been washing –causing it to fall to the ground and shatter unceremoniously. The boy turned around quickly to stare at the broken pieces on the floor, proceeding speedily to pick them up with his bare, knobbly hands.

"Stop." Severus said, indicating the plate on the polished, tiled floor. When Harry seemingly refused to look up at him, Snape blurted out an angry: "What, are you deaf boy?"

The black-haired boy peered up with bright green eyes just in time to see the infuriated professor mouth the words, and merely nodded in fear. As if on cue, a large, hefty man burst into the room, wheezing.

"What did you break this time, you worthless piece of rubbish?" He yelled, not aware of Snape lurking in a nearby corner. The man raised a beefy hand to strike the trembling child, but the dark man caught it in his own vice-like grip.

"Don't touch him." He spat, with venom, at the excuse for a human being in front of him.

Vernon Dursley's face reddened, "You're the freak my little Petunia just told me about. I'll tell you once more, he's not leaving this house!"

Severus continued in the same steady tone, "He _is_ going, and there's nothing you can do about it. Now you best get out of my site before I have you screaming for your life."

In a matter of seconds, Snape had his thin wand pressed into the Vernon's enormous piece of neck. Harry's uncle whimpered, and upon release retreated to the living room like the coward he was. Severus placed his wand into the folds of his ropes, pressing his hands over his cloak in a satisfied manner.

Content with the fact that none of the Dursley family would be interrupting his precious time any longer, Severus pulled out Harry's Hogwarts letter from his pocket and handed it to the boy, who had now stopped shivering in fear in favour of staring at the professor with curiosity. After reading the letter, Harry placed the parchment on the granite counter top and pulled a small notebook and pencil from his own back pocket.

'_Who_ _are you?_' he scrawled across an unblemished page, hesitating a little he added: '_I can lip read._' Handing it to the strange man, Harry watched as Snape introduced himself as Professor Severus Snape, esteemed Potions Master at Hogwarts –School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

'_Magic is real?_' the small-framed boy continued to write.

"Of course it is," the man bit out a little too harshly, "Who on earth would lead you to believe otherwise?"

It was only when Harry refused to make eye contact, and slithered an undersized hand to snake around his bony neck, did Severus realise that the expected creamy skin was covered in mottled coloured bruises –as if someone had recently attempted to strangle the life out of the small boy. The dark-robed man swallowed his rage and disgust, after noticing that at several points in their 'conversation' Harry flinched first in response.

"Can you collect your things for me, please Harry." The professor quickly added as an afterthought. The boy nodded, walking up to what seemed like a supply-cupboard under the stairs. Crawling inside, there was a shuffle of movement before he returned to Severus' side with a small cardboard box filled with a few oversized garments of clothing, two scrapbook notebooks and broken pencils he had salvaged from Dudley's wastepaper basket on one of the many occasions he was required to clean his pudgy cousin's bedroom.

"Is that all you are planning on taking with you?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head yet again.

Severus' dark eyebrows creased in contemplation, "Why was your stuff in the cupboard under the stairs? Surely you have your own bedroom."

The lithe boy laid the box on the floor, pulled out his little notebook once more and wrote, '_That is my room, professor._'

Said professor schooled his expression expertly, desperately trying to mask his infuriated thoughts and anxious emotions. "Oh," he said coolly –more to himself then Harry- "Well, we must be getting on our way. I don't believe in unnecessarily wasting time."

Once Harry's box was shrunk, he shortly explained the complexity of Apparation. Upon which Harry felt quite interesting, but, of course, was not prepared for the entire 'being pulled through a much too small tube' experience. This was further illustrated when the eleven year old involuntarily rid his stomach of the little he had been allowed to eat at breakfast that chilly morning.

Severus' hooked nose wiggled in distaste, and when the boy had finally regained some composure, he tapped various points of a brick wall, only waiting a few moments for the charm to take effect. Harry's green orbs beamed in wonder as Sir Severus Snape, Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry said the magical words of: "Welcome Harry Potter, to Diagon Alley."


	2. Diagon Alley

**Chapter 2**: Diagon Alley

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After receiving more than enough galleons from Mr. Potter's Gringotts vault, Snape lead Harry into 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions', instructing the boy to wait near a measuring stool while he spoke with the kindly lady that owned said establishment.

Carding a tired hand through his greasy hair, Severus quietly told Madam Malkin that Harry Potter was in dire need of a new wardrobe –both wizard _and _muggle, if he had any hopes of attending school by the fall.

"No problem, Master Snape. I'll see to it that young Harry Potter is fit to attend Hogwarts in less than a jiffy." She clapped her delicate hands together, marching over to a solemn jet-black haired boy with various black robes in her hands.

"Now Harry, child, would you be so kind as to stretch your arms out straight, and to stand as upright as you can possibly manage?" The boy obeyed the commands after Snape initiated the process of correcting his posture –his bony limbs extending out before him, his stunted height not increasing by much as he attempted to correct his posture.

While most other tailors just used a magical tape-measure kit to record a customer's dimensions, Madam Malkin was one of the few, however, who preferred to do it purely by hand. That way she was sure of the measurements, and could pick out the necessary outfits and dresses that much quicker.

"While the wizard clothes shouldn't be too much of a problem –as all the fabric used here has a natural charm to ensure that the garment fits perfectly- I would still much prefer it if Mr. Potter actually tried on the muggle attire." She spun off in a tizzy.

Harry had yet to make a move as if he had heard the old woman, so Severus quickly scrawled across the boy's notebook, holding it up so he could make out the words through his badly taped together glasses.

'_Madam Malkin would like you to strip to your underclothes in order for you to try on the muggle clothing. Do indulge her, and this arduous task will be over shortly._'

The skinny boy's lip trembled, as if he was about to burst into tears; little hands proceeded to grope the greying material of his thinning, oversized shirt. The boy's entire torso was shaking, including his more than slender knees. Snape raised an intrigued eyebrow at the Harry's behaviour, desperately wanting the boy to get on with it. He had potions to prepare for! Poppy was already nagging him about depleted stores!

What should have been bare, unblemished skin was revealed to be a mass of angry burns and scars. More than a few rather dark bruises near the abdomen indicated that the boy had also succumbed to being punched in the stomach several times over. Snape's mask once again fell for a moment, as recalled the woes of his very own childhood, how Harry's marks mirrored his own marred torso.

Finally regaining her composure, Madam Malkin attempted to embrace Harry –which ended rather nastily for both parties included. The black-haired boy pushed against Malkin's arms, not wanting to be touched by anyone, only to fall backwards and hit his moppy head against a clothing rail.

Forgetting himself for an instant, Snape crouched down and cupped the boy's head asking Harry how many fingers he was holding up in front of him. When Harry did not respond in the way he would have liked –confusing the singular piano-finger for two instead, Severus went against his better judgement and pulled the shockingly lightweight child into the folds of his dark robes in an attempt to comfort the boy. After the initial shock, Harry's tensely strung body melted into Severus' arms, feeling, for what the professor could only guess to be to be _years_, comfortable enough to just let go and cry –heaving chests, snotty noses and all.

The Potions Professor managed to convince an eager fourth-year Slytherin girl to purchase the less interactive items on Harry's list of school equipment, including the required textbooks _and a few others _from 'Flourish and Blotts', as well as potions' ingredients from the Apothecary.

Severus went as far as to pick out a familiar for Harry too, after he seemed to have warmed up to a particular raggedly looking black kitten. It was only when they had left the Emporium, and reached Ollivander's wand shop did Snape cease to let Harry continue to drape around his neck. Something he would soon be regretting seeing as he had already received a number of pointed and confused looks from students and Hogwarts' parents alike. Damn the insufferable brat.

Both stepping inside the shop, they waited for old wizard to appear. Harry, who was staring at his feet, did not notice Mr. Ollivander enter the tiny, musty room. Snape tapped his shoulder to capture his attention, with which Harry responded with a graceless flinch.

"Are you left or right handed Mr. Potter?" Ollivander asked. Harry raised his right hand. Giving a short nod, the mirthful man pulled a dusty box from a nearby shelf and handed it to Harry. When the boy continued to look at Mr. Ollivander with a rather dubious expression adorned on his face, Severus motioned with his own hand that Harry should wave the wand.

Several attempts, and countless overturned wand boxes later, both the black-haired boy and silver-haired man were satisfied with the wand that had chosen Harry –Mr. Ollivander even more so when gold sparks had flown from Harry Potter's wand.

"That'll be all, thank you Ollivander." Severus said curtly, before pulling several galleons from his pocket and handing them over to the man.

Deciding that the morning's adventures had been more than enough for Severus and Harry, both physically and emotionally, they headed for the Leaky Cauldron. Much to the Potion Master's displeasure, someone called out his name.

"Professor Snape?" He stopped short, causing Harry to run into him. He glared down at the boy, only to feel stinging remorse when the boy cringed and stared up at him apologetically. Severus looked up to see who had called him. Percy Weasley, a promising student, was walking over with another red-haired boy, his brother he assumed.

"Yes, Weasley." He sighed, "Well, we have to get going." He tapped Harry, who was staring at his feet again. The small boy tensed up. "Come along, Potter."

As they walked away, Snape distinctly heard the younger child, say coarsely to his older brother, "Potter? Percy? Percy, was that Harry –Harry Potter?'


	3. The Leaky Cauldron

**Chapter 3**: The Leaky Cauldron

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Seated in a dingy corner of the wizard-like pub where no one would be interested enough to bother them, Snape ordered both he and young Harry Potter a bowl of warm chicken broth –a slice of bread to be shared between the two, and two ice-cold glasses of clear water.

The Potions Professor watched as the inky-haired boy fidgeted in his seat, seemingly restless and distracted by something playing heavily on his mind.

"Potter." He called out, not expecting much in the way of a reaction.

He was therefore surprised not only when Harry lifted his head, revealing a mass of tear-filled flesh, but also appeared to be clutching his right hand in anguished pain.

Severus reached around the wooden table, abruptly pulling the offending limb into view –_not fully prepared for the strangled yelp that left the boy's chapped pink lips_. The dark-cloaked man stared at Harry in amazement for a few moments before letting his gaze travel down the small child's trembling arm and hand in his own. Uncurling the tiny fingers exposed a palm of sticky crimson –bloodied, sharp nails having left their half-moon marks.

"Why?" was all he said, making sure that the boy had clearly seen the motion of the word. Harry sniffled, plainly trying to suppress a sob inside the collar of his brand new muggle sweater.

Putting a slender arm into his robes, Severus pulled a small glass tube from the folds, pouring the thick liquid onto the miniature hand before him, which housed several self-inflicted wounds. Harry squeaked at the cold feeling, but the sensation did nothing to stop the tears gently dripping down his gaunt face.

For the second time in a few simple hours, Severus Snape was at a loss for what to do. Biting the insides of his cheeks, the man drew the shuddering boy into his lap once more, cradling his head as the brat wiped his snotty nose against his chest.

"Harry?"

Feeling the vibration of Severus' voice resound against his little body, the boy looked up to meet the professor's obsidian eyes, watching as he motioned towards the black notebook and broken pencil across from them. Squeezing his right hand, Harry accepted the stationary –quickly scrawling something on an unused page.

'_You will not be returning to that infernal house Mr. Potter, I assure you._' Snape replied, hastily adding '_Was that false pretence causing you distress, child?_'

The boy nodded weakly, already having forgotten that all his meagre possessions had been shrunk to fit in his pocket just that morning. Severus readjusted the pubescent teen seated in his arms, brushing a few long strands of raven hair out of Harry's sweaty face.

"Our food has arrived Harry."

The boy's brow crinkled in confusion, much so that professor went on to point out the bustling bartender carrying a silvered-tray, adorned with two bowls of steaming hot soup and a plate of freshly baked bread over towards where they were both currently quietly seated. Potter hopped off the man's lap, knocking the table with his elbow in the process and causing two saltshakers to fall to their demise. Grasping it at an awkward angle, Harry stood near Severus' side, waiting patiently for him to serve himself and trying desperately to berate the voices inside his head, which suggested whispers that he was not going to be fed.

After a couple of mouthfuls, Snape finally realised that the boy had still yet to make a move in the way of actually eating. In fact, it had seemed to him, by the way Harry had bowed his head ashamedly, that he had resigned himself to forced hunger.

The boy honestly thought that he, Severus Snape, would let any youth under his charge starve. _The insanity of it! _The man gently made a grab for Harry's small chin, ignoring the resulting flinch, and told the raven-haired child to eat, least he waste away even more.

"You're bone-thin Harry," he mumbled sadly under his breath, "bone thin."

Under Severus' supervision, Harry managed to finish most of the meaty broth and chew through a couple bites of bread. The amount that he had eaten was still very little, and largely unsatisfactory, but for now, it would just have to do.

Once Poppy has had him examined, it would be easier to decide on the next course of action.


	4. Castle Doors

**Chapter 4**: Castle Doors

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Unfortunately for Harry, Severus Snape did not have the foresight to carry a portkey on his person –having not the slightest inclination that he would be bringing the boy back to Hogwarts with him that afternoon- and nor did the Potions Professor want to make use of the Floo Network connected to Dumbledore's office... Save the Headmaster's need to grab the child and send him straight back to where he came from. Severus did not trust that Professor Dumbledore was oblivious to Harry's current treatment in that awful household.

_Those foul relatives of his!_

_That blasted man had to have known._

Therefore, Apparation it would have to be.

However, even that was a tricky task in itself, seeing as it was practically impossible to Apparate into the folds of Hogwarts' wards. They would both have to settle for walking up the hilly grounds until they reached the Castle.

Severus glanced at the eleven year old beside him, mildly wondering whether the small boy would be able to survive another magically induced trip without sicking up. His expectations lived to foil him when Harry,_unexpectedly_, did not vomit up his earlier meal –instead, making to just clutch at the professor's leg, dispelling sudden waves of dizziness.

Giving the child a curt nod, Snape proceeded to stride up towards Hogwarts' large front doors, not paying the mind to look back to see if his charge was indeed following after him and keeping up with his extensive pace. It was only when the Potions Professor heard a garrotted cry did his head crane away from its forward position, to find that Harry had collapsed over a large, course-like boulder –his tiny hands grasping at his pathetic, pale face.

Prying the boy's limbs away, steady rivulets of dark blood seemed to be pouring from his nose. He must have tripped over something in the ground; studying the behaviour of most first years, Harry probably became distracted by the overwhelming presence of the Castle itself.

Pushing into the folds of his cloak, Severus pulled out a virgin, silk hanky and handed it to the crying child who promptly accepted the offer without question. Seeing no way around it, and no doubt they would reach their destination much faster, the dark man scooped the malnourished boy into his arms and carried him to the castle doors. Noticing the tremors coursing through Harry's body with each step he took, Severus vowed that the Dursley's would pay for what they had done to kin of their own.


	5. Madam Pomfrey's Infirmary

**Chapter 5**: Madam Pomfrey's Infirmary

* * *

When Severus Snape carried the skeletal boy into the Hospital Wing, Poppy had first thought that the sickly, gaunt child was perhaps one of the runway children roaming the streets of Knockturn Alley. Save the appearance of the bright green sweater he was swaddled in, the boy looked every bit of one of the Knockturn Alley Orphanage children she had assumed him to be.

"Don't just stand there Poppy, this boy needs your attention!" Severus growled, placing Harry gently on the hospital bed nearest the door. The jet-black haired child was still whimpering, the blood spewing from his nose had dried, but already dark bruising was beginning to grace the area just below his emerald green eyes.

Madam Pomfrey snapped out of her stunned daze and set around to bustling through her medical stores after casting a diagnosis charm on –_unbeknown to her_- a severally abused Harry Potter. It was only when she had a chance to examine the boy from a closer perspective did she come to realise that this was no ordinary child in her midst –the now very obvious scar falling into her line of vision.

Faltering, she opened her mouth, "Is this- Severus- is this the Potter boy?"

The Potions Professor inclined his head, watching as the boy's eyes widened in apprehensive fear. He had recognised the sounding of his name, not being able to discern whether the speaker of the simple word was a threat as of yet. Seemingly not wanting to risk anything at all, Harry inched away from the elderly nurse until he was backed against the headboard, proceeding to promptly collapse into the favoured foetal position. Both adults could make out the garbled murmurs of hush whispers that sounded worriedly like that of: 'Sorry, won't do 'gain!' leave the boy's chapped lips.

Poppy advanced, making the same mistake Malkin had made in 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions' in trying to reach for Harry. Feeling the spidery woman's hands on his tiny body the boy shrieked as if he had been burned with a banding-iron. Thrashing to the point where he managed to knock several potion vials that had taken Severus several gruelling days to make off the nightstand beside the bed, the professor surveyed in horror as his charge fell unceremoniously to the ground in pain.

Living to surprise Severus at every turn, Potter looked wildly around the room, crossing the floor on his injured hands and knees to seek the comfort of a lone wardrobe that housed the infirmary's sheets and bedding. Madam Pomfrey's composure crumbled when the stinging sobs of an abused child slipped through the cracks of the wooden doors.

"What have they done to him, Professor?"

The elusive Severus Snape sighed, drawling in a strained voice, "I believe Poppy that the Dursleys have taken a liking to beating young Mr. Potter," he snorted, "as if starving and neglecting him beyond recognition wouldn't have already broken the fragile child's spirit."

"Are you suggesting that-" the grey haired woman gasped, "Albus would never have placed him there if-"

Severus interrupted, "That remains to be seen... For now, we attend to a horribly mistreated boy in our care."

The healer nodded, casting desolate glances in the way of the shaking wardrobe. "He's so small Severus, hardly the picture of the healthy, happy eleven year old we all expected to come bounding through Hogwarts' castle doors in just a few short weeks."

"His stature will be the least of his problems in the upcoming months..." The dark man closed his eyes, almost too afraid to speak the following words. "Thanks to his relatives," a stilted pause, "Potter is deaf."

The Potions Professor didn't even bother to look at Poppy's face; he could gauge her reaction by the silence alone.

The hospital nurse was furious.

However, ideas of revenge would have to wait –there is a more pressing issue currently at hand.

"Potter." Severus knelt before the wardrobe, hoping to be able to pry the boy out of the linen cupboard, "_Harry_, you must come out of there now –Madam Pomfrey needs to assess you." When there was no response, he nearly slapped the cupboard door in frustration.

_Of course! Potter could barely hear a thing!_

Slowly the man's pale piano fingers slipped through the small crack between the doors, gently wrestling them open to find a sleeping form huddled amid several warm, thick blankets. No doubt though it was summer, the boy's tiny frame would permit Harry constantly to feel cold no matter the type of climate.

Sneer at the resemblance of James Potter's forever-unruly mop of hair, Snape drew up to his feet. Taking a few steps back, he turned to the nurse. "I believe Mr. Potter is sleeping. You'll do well to see to his injuries now while he is incapacitated, lest he wake up and we face the hallowed shrieks of a strangled cat yet again." He finished, distaste evident with the words he spoke.

"Severus!"

Ignoring the rebuking of his name, the man made to pull Harry into his arms, trying his outmost best not to waken the deaf brat. Goodness knows he might give the infirmary another repeat performance of his earlier panic attack.

Severus frowned at the thought. The way the boy had reacted when Poppy had merely touched his hips was enough to suggest that Potter had been subjected to more than malnourishment and a few well-placed backhanded swipes to the torso and head. Nevertheless, the professor left the matron to her job, opting rather to slip away while she worked at trying to remove the child's clothes.

A loud gasp drew Severus Snape out of his clouded thoughts in the afternoon's shadow, and paused to see Madam Pomfrey trying to stifle her own sobs. Following her gaze, his obsidian eyes fell on the sight that had suddenly caused the normally stringent nurse to break down in tears.

The Potions Professor had already been a witness to the mass of angry burns and scars that littered the Harry's upper body. What he wasn't, _and never will be,_ prepared for was the dark, bruising fingerprints that started from the cusp of the boy's hips, making their way down the inner thighs of his stick-like legs. Severus' stomach coiled and knotted in fury and disgust.

"How could they do this, Severus? How could they do this to a child? A poor, helpless child! It's barbaric!" Poppy's voice echoed his sentiments. A smothered moan alerted the adults present that their charge was indeed waking. Thinking light on his feet, Severus grabbed one of the vials the matron had replaced, and tenderly soothed it down Harry's throat.

"Dreamless Sleep, professor?"

He growled. "Yes, it would be better if he wasn't conscious... to this." Severus waved his hands over Harry's mangled sleeping form. "Would you be so kind as to tell me what exactly is ailing Mr. Potter?" he sighed, "I need to know what treatment I should need to administer if he is to stay under my roof. No doubt, that is what the Headmaster intended when he sent me on a wild goose chase to find the boy this morning."

Pomfrey nodded. Resigned to her position as Hogwarts' head matron, she rattled off a laundry list of damages to Harry's body –paying particular mention to several splintered ribs and a fractured ankle.

For a single moment, Severus was livid. _It was any wonder the boy hand managed to walk at all!_ If he'd have told the professor sooner... His train of thought was lost as a flashback from his own childhood came to the forefront of his mind.

'_A much younger Madam Pomfrey, slightly blonder hair and a pale blue apron in toe, stared down at a sickly young boy clutching his arm at a twisted angle with concerned eyes. The curtain of inky black hair the child had often used as a veil to hide his emotions did nothing this time to conceal the pain he so obviously desperately felt._

"_Really Severus Snape, what am I going to do with you?" she placed her hands on her hips, "Why didn't you come to me sooner? Had you come to me a week ago I could have promptly healed your arm in a heartbeat..."_

_Dark, fearful eyes gazed up at the matron._

_Her frowning face softened._

"_You'll have to stay overnight I'm afraid," she pointed to the boy's left arm, "Those bones will have to be completely broken and regrown."_

_The thin child nodded, bruised lips whispering a small 'thank you'. This was a game they had both played at every start of the year –dancing around the fact that they both knew the injuries the boy constantly faced were indeed not from normal teenage induced brawls. The nurse however, allowed the child to believe his own lies. Any comfort she had attempted to bestow was met with an icy reception...'_

Of course the boy wouldn't have said anything. If Potter's upbringing was anything like that of Severus' own, he was certain that voicing the feeling of pain was probably only ever met with more rains of anguish and abuse. It was a miracle that Harry had been able to warm up to anyone, _let alone Severus of all people_, after the years of cruelty that he had endured.

Suddenly the fireplace roared to life, dispelling any notion of a revelation.

An old head peeked through the green flames of the Floo Network.

"Severus, my boy. A word if you please."


End file.
